


Truth in Advertising

by DevilDoll



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Foofy Humor, M/M, Sillyfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-21
Updated: 2006-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDoll/pseuds/DevilDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Luxury cabin, my ass!"  Foofy humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth in Advertising

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the picfor1000 challenge. Picture appears at end of story. Thanks to musesfool and hwmitzy for the beta duties, and to slodwick for the challenge.

"Luxury cabin, my ass!"

John grinned at Rodney's indignation, then hurriedly sobered as Rodney turned to look at him, checking to make sure John had the common sense to share his outrage. John glanced around the cramped cabin and put on a facial expression he hoped passed for utter dismay.

Satisfied, Rodney started rifling through the pockets of his parka. "This is nothing like the brochure. Nothing!"

John had known just from looking at the outside that it wasn't going to be anything like the glossy pictures in the brochure, but apparently Rodney had been harboring a small bit of hope. Even calling it a cabin was being generous, actually. It was more like a one-room shack, possibly even tinier than that shitty, roach-infested studio apartment John had called home for a while in Texas.

But Rodney had been drooling over the beautiful pictures promising luxurious accommodations for weeks, and John knew he had to be disappointed. And Rodney went from disappointed to pissed off with frightening speed.

"This is an outrage! I'm going to demand our money back," Rodney huffed, finally locating the brochure and opening it with a vicious snap.

John nodded, because that tone in Rodney's voice always triggered a Pavlovian response to nod his head and agree. Then he went back outside to unload the truck, the sound of Rodney shouting, "Graciously appointed!" following him out into the cold.

He made several trips to the rented Jeep, lugging in their bags and skis and some groceries and Rodney’s laptop and then more groceries and Rodney's new XBox and then even more groceries.

When he finally shut the door behind him, panting and sweaty in his heavy jacket, Rodney had worked himself up into an impressive rage. He was stomping around the tiny cabin, crumpled pamphlet at the ready, fuming over every deceit and deception.

"Gourmet kitchen!" he said, pointing at the cramped kitchen area and the appliances that had seen better days. There was a sink and a stove and a refrigerator and--thank God--a coffee pot, but they were all far from new, and the handle on the oven door was missing completely.

He moved on to the dusty television balanced atop an old coffee table. "State of the art entertainment system! Ha! There isn't even a DVD player!"

John was tempted to point out that they could play DVDs on the laptop, but decided not to interrupt him while he was on a roll. He looked around, eyes skimming the worn furniture and the cheap curtains. And then he saw the bed.

The really big bed.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he crossed the room.

"Luxurious hot tub! Liars!" Rodney was yelling from what must have been the bathroom.

John touched the bedspread, which was actually soft and clean, not the perpetually unwashed polyester he expected. He sat down on the foot, bouncing lightly. Pretty comfy. It was even possible Rodney wouldn't proclaim it a torture rack five minutes in.

Rodney was back, still fuming. "That's not a lake--that's barely a pond. And did you see the 'fleet of fishing boats'?" he demanded, pointing out the window at the lone rowboat, abandoned on the ice. "What a joke. Not that we'd go boat fishing at this time of year, but, still ...false advertising!"

John nodded some more. God, the pillows. Five pillows on the bed. _Five_.

"And the fireplace was supposed to be gas! I can't cut firewood, and I'm certainly not letting you anywhere near an axe."

John let himself fall back on the mattress, arms thrown wide. Wow. He'd spent so much time in those narrow Atlantis beds, it actually _was_ luxurious to have all this room. The TV, though not top of the line, actually looked like it might be pretty decent--probably new enough to plug the XBox into, though he was sure if it wasn't, Rodney would find a way--and as soon as they got unpacked there would be warm food and cold beer, and there was _this bed_.

One bed for the both of them. John's stomach felt pleasantly hollow.

Neither of them had ever talked about it, but John was pretty sure there was a _thing_. It was a thing they didn't mention or act on or even acknowledge, but he'd known for a while it was there.

Then one day Rodney had slapped the infamous brochure down on John's desk and announced they were taking a vacation when they got back to Earth. John had nodded and tried not to think too much about what that vacation might entail, because it made his face get hot, and there was no way he was going to be worse at playing it cool than Rodney.

Rodney had remained brisk and business-like for the week remaining until they dialed Earth, and through the two days of debriefings and meetings, and even on the drive up here, until John had started to wonder if he'd read the whole thing wrong.

"And the ski lift doesn't even work!" Rodney pulled back the curtains on the other window to reveal the decrepit ski lift, broken cable sagging into the snow. He crammed the brochure back into his pocket. "We're leaving!"

John propped himself up on his elbows. "Rodney."

Rodney looked up, still fumbling with the zipper on his parka, still chock full of righteous anger. “What?”

"Did we really come up here to do all that stuff?"

Rodney froze, zipper tab still swinging. He swallowed, and his face flushed a gratifying shade of red that John had only a few seconds to gloat over before he felt his own cheeks heating up. If Rodney's thoughts were anywhere near as pornographic as John's, it was going to be a race to see whose hair lit on fire first.

Oh, yeah, there was a thing. There was _definitely_ a thing.

Rodney sat down, right there on the floor, and started tugging at his boot laces. "You know what? Screw the skiing."

 **The End**


End file.
